Blood and Fire
by duncan.mcmanis
Summary: Desperate to save his own life, a young hunter goes to Yharnam. Can he survive the beasts of the Hunt, or worse, the hunters roaming the streets. What is Pale Blood? Who is Gehrman? And what is the Healing Church hiding?


**Authors note: Howdy! So I just recently played Bloodborne and I can honestly say that it was really, really, really okay. I didn't much care for the gameplay, the controls felt awkward, and the way the story was written felt, to me least, kind of lazy. BUT I did enjoy its art direction, atmosphere, and lore. I love Gothic stories and the lore is just fascinating. I just think it's a shame that these things take a backseat to your own character's poorly defined story, which brings me to my reason for writing this. This story is basically what I imagine Bloodborne would be like if instead of the open-ended (lazy) story it was given a proper plot and narrative. And so I present to you the tale of the hunter Belmont and his night in Yharnam. Enjoy!**

Yharnam, a city that's lost it's mind. _"Why did I come to this wretched place,"_ he asked himself as he limped down the cobblestone road, leaning heavily on his polished cane. His breathing was heavy, slow, and unsteady. He lost his footing on a particularly uneven part of the road. He lost his cane and his legs buckled under his own weight. He fell.

His hands shot forward and kept him from landing face first on the ground. A hot, sharp pain surged through his arms when his hands landed on the unyielding ground. For one moment that felt like hours he lied there, wheezing and gasping for breath. His stomach churned and his head throbbed. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breath, all while choking down the bile in his throat. But he couldn't hold it in. He felt another surge in his throat and stomach and vomited there on that deserted street. Slimy, crimson blood rushed from his mouth and pooled beneath him. His strength failed him again and he finally went limp, falling into the pool of his own blood.

 _'Is this how I'm going to die? In a gutter, choking on my own blood?'_ he wondered. "The church," he said aloud, reminding himself why he came to this cursed city. "I have to get… to the Healing Church… Pale… blood…" he rasped.

"Oh, yes… Paleblood…" said a stranger, who seemed to appear out of thin air. "Well, you've come to the right place. Yharnam is the home of blood ministration. You need only unravel its mystery."

He could barely breathe let alone move. All he could see was the dirty street and the blood in which he soaked. But he could hear a faint squeaking coming closer. This stranger, was in a wheelchair?

"But, where's an outsider like yourself to begin?" the stranger said, the rattling squeak coming closer and closer. "Easy, with a bit of Yharnam blood of your own…" the stranger came right up next to him, showing that he was, in fact, in a wheelchair.

His fatigue was beginning to get the better of him, his eyelids became heavy and his vision blurred. But he could make out what the stranger looked like, an old man wearing dull clothes, a ragged jacket, and the large top hat.

"But first, you'll need a contract…" the old man leaned over and placed a piece of paper within the pool of red sick. As he did this, the old man revealed his face. He had greasy gray hair, a scruffy beard, and an equally scruffy mustache. "All I need is a name and seal. Anything will do."

Yharnam blood, a known curative made famous for its effectiveness, but also infamous, amongst some, for its side effects. But what choice did he have? He was dying. He could accept the blood and risk the Beast Scourge, or die there like a stray dog. And so, with all the strength he could muster, he dragged his trembling hand through his blood and placed it on top of the contract.

"And your name?" the stranger asked.

He took a deep breath and said, "Bel… mont." However horse his voice may have been, if you listened closely you could still hear his pride as he spoke his name. Belmont, a name that invoked pride amongst its bearers, a name that invoked respect among peers, but above all, it was a name that invoked fear amongst all.

"Good. All signed and sealed," the old man said as he removed the contract which, though it lied directly within a puddle of bile and vomit, was completely unstained by any of the filth it crossed. "We'll make the final preparations and begin the transfusion."

Belmont's eyes became even heavier and the world grew cold.

"Oh, don't you worry," the stranger reassured the sickly hunter. "Whatever happens… You may think it all a mere bad dream…"

His exhaustion finally became too much. Belmont closed his eyes and his consciousness slipped away. The last thing he heard was the old man's demented laughter.

"Ahh, you've found yourself a hunter…" With these words, spoken by a soft feminine voice, Belmont's eyes blinked open. He found himself lying on his chest at the foot of a tall, steep hill. He pushed himself to his feet and took in all of his surroundings.

Laid into the hill was a stone stairway that led to a sizable stone building at the top, it almost looked like a church. The cathedral -like structure was surrounded by trees on the verge of death. To his left, Belmont saw a stone birdbath that came up to his waist and to his right he saw what looked like a graveyard. Curious, Belmont turned on his heel to see what lie behind him; he saw nothing but mist. All that separated him from that foggy oblivion was a simple iron fence which, strangely enough, seemed to completely stop the mist.

He turned around again and noticed light shining through the windows of the stone building. With nowhere else to go, Belmont made his way up the steps of carved stone. But after his first step he noticed something odd, he was standing on his own. No cane, no leg braces, nothing for him to lean on, his legs held his own weight without any kind of support. He hopped into the air a few times then squatted down, still bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He massaged his knees for a second before he gave them a strong thumping. Thump, thump, thump. He stood up straight again, finished playing with his returned strength, and resumed his trek up the stairs.

Eventually Belmont made it to the top of the hill. He then faced the imposing stone house and its large wooden doors. With a mighty push, Belmont opened the doors. Whatever he expected to see that night, it was not what he found. The inside was rather welcoming. The air was warm without being hot and numerous white candles, some smoking, lit up the spacious room. And at the far end of that comfortable, but still strange, house, there was an old man sitting in a wheelchair.

For a moment Belmont thought it was the same stranger that had him sign that contract, but upon further inspection he saw that it was someone else. This old man had the same hair as the other, greasy and gray, but his face and clothes were different and he had a cane.

"Ah-hah, you must be the new hunter. Welcome to the Hunter's Dream," said the old man, his voice low and gravelly. "Tell me, good hunter, what is your name?"

Belmont, guided purely by curiosity, slowly approached the old man. "Belmont," he introduced himself. "What's yours?"

"Ah, where are my manners?" the old man said, lightly slapping his face in embarrassment. "I am Gehrman, friend to you hunters. Sorry, but did you say your name was Belmont?" Gehrman asked.

"I did," Belmont, now standing in front of Gehrman, answered.

Gehrman smiled at Belmont's response. "It's a fine name," he said. Gehrman then lifted his head, his gray eyes gleaming in the candlelight, to get a better look at Belmont. "Forgive me for saying, but you don't fit the usual picture of a hunter, not with that hair."

He wasn't wrong. Belmont's hair was one of the most unusual colors anyone had ever seen, for it was cherry blossom pink. He inherited his wavy locks from his late mother, whose hair was an even brighter hue. Belmont very much liked his and his mother's hair, but it was still embarrassing when people pointed it out.

"And your eye," Gehrman continued. "That's not it's natural color."

He was right again. Belmont's left eye was a brilliantly bright shade of blue, but his right eye was bloodshot and dark crimson. Another symptom of his disease.

"Well, I suppose appearances hardly matter in your line of work," Gehrman said. "Which reminds me…" he then reached down to his hip and produced what seemed to be some type of firearm. "If you're planning to visit the Healing Church this night then you're going to need this."

"How did you know I was looking for the Church?" Belmont asked. He never said anything about it.

Gehrman smiled. "When you come to be my age, you know many things…"

Belmont eyed the firearm carefully. Hesitant and still unsure of Gehrman's intentions, Belmont accepted the old man's gift and took it in his left hand. Upon closer inspection Belmont recognized the craftsmanship of the weapon. It had a fairly short barrel and a bulky stock. It was a weapon of the Workshop. "A blunderbuss?" he said.

"Yes, one of my own," Gehrman responded. "That gun has slain many beasts and served me on many hunts. It has not once failed me nor will it ever fail you. Treat it well…"

Belmont's mind was swimming with questions. But before he could ask any of them Gehrman spoke again.

"You're sure to be in a fine haze about now, but don't think too hard about all this," Gehrman said as he lifted his cane and pointed it at Belmont's chest. "Just go out and kill a few beasts. It's for your own good. You know, it's just what you hunters do…" As he finished he lightly tapped Belmont's chest with his cane.

When Gehrman touched Belmont he felt his breath, his strength, and his senses leave him. His eyes rolled back in his head as he fell backwards the world became cold and blurry. He saw nothing, felt nothing, thought of nothing and the ground seemed to have disappeared. Down he fell and fell, and fell, and fell. Until eventually, after what felt like a century, he felt a sudden thud.

With a jolt of pain in his head and stomach, Belmont abruptly regained consciousness and found himself lying on his back. He lied there, blinking and gasping, his body greedily sucking in the air, repugnant as it was. Confused, Belmont looked around the room. It was dirty, dusty, and reeked of blood. The floor was strewn with paper scrawled with ineligible writing and the paint was peeling from the wall.

Belmont pushed himself up to a sitting position and felt an uncomfortable tug on his left wrist. He glanced at his arm and found a needle connected to an empty tube embedded in his flesh just below his hand. Belmont firmly grasped the base of the needle, took a deep breath, held it, and sternly yanked the needle. The needle left quite easily, but there was still a sharp scratch of pain. A crimson bead of blood oozed from the open wound. He scanned the room once again, he found himself sitting on what looked like a surgery table.

Driven by a strong desire to not be in such a place, Belmont decided to leave. He threw his legs over the edge of the table and hopped off. Out of the corner of his eye Belmont saw his cane leaning against a chair in the far corner of the room. A fit man would have no need for such a thing, but that cane helped Belmont through some of his darkest days. He made his way across the room and picked up his cane. In the seat of the chair he also found the same blunderbuss given to him by Gehrman. As he spied the old gun Gehrman's words echoed in the back of his mind, _"if you planning to visit the Healing Church this night then you're going to need this."_ It couldn't hurt to keep such a tool on hand. Besides, a hunter without a weapon might as well be naked.

Thinking it best not to tempt fate, Belmont took the old blunderbuss. A cane made of lacquered wood and an antique weapon of the Workshop. It wasn't much, but it was better than tooth and nail, not that that would stop a hunter.

Belmont took one more look around and found that the only way out was a plain downward staircase. With a destination in mind and nowhere else to go, he descended the stairs and began his journey to the Healing Church. At the bottom of the stairs there was what looked like a sickroom. There were no lamps or candles, making it difficult to see, but not impossible to make out what was there. Operating tables were haphazardly lined into two rows down the middle, and all along the walls there were shelves sparsely filled with medicines. And directly opposite of Belmont, there was another flight of stairs.

Belmont pressed on and after walking no less than 10 feet through the seemingly abandoned infirmary he heard something, something unsettling. Somewhere behind him he could hear the low creaking of the old floorboards buckling beneath something heavy. Belmont kept still, any sudden moves may cause his stalker to pounce. He kept calm, though he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, he tightened his grip on his cane and gently wrapped his finger around the blunderbuss's trigger. The creaking was coming closer and he could hear a faint breathing, long and deep. Every one of Belmont's instincts screamed, telling him to run, but he stood fast.

He was never quite sure what allowed him to face such creatures. Was it fear that compelled him to fight, fear for what these beasts might do if they were allowed to live? Was it courage that let him face these animals, to do what was needed and put them down? Was it a primal hunger for violence that drove him, or was it something else entirely. Whatever it was, Belmont held his ground.

In a single agonizing second, Belmont felt something that made the hairs on his neck prickle. A hot, pungent breath brushed against his skin, the stench alone would break lesser men. And then… _CRASH!_

Belmont leapt forward and tucked into a role across the floor. Whether it was by skill or dumb luck, he avoided having his back cut open by long sharp claws. He quickly stood back up, turned on his heel and pointed his gun at his attacker. Pulling its paw out of the new hole in the floorboards was one of the most grotesque creatures to walk this earth. It was covered in matted black fur, its limbs were as long as the average man was tall, its ribs protruded through the fur, and its long muzzle was covered in enough blood to turn its sharp yellow teeth red. A typical beast of the Hunt.

Belmont pulled the trigger, it wouldn't kill the beast, but a hole in the gut would slow it down, if nothing else. But all he heard was a soft click. He pulled the trigger a couple more times. There was no flash of light, no echoing bang, and no splatter of fresh blood across the walls. _'Is this someone's idea of a joke, what use is an unloaded gun!?'_ He thought to himself. Belmont was so distracted by the lack of gunfire that he somehow missed the beast closing the distance. By the time he realized what was happening it was already too late, the beast was on top of him.

Towering above the hunter, the beast swung its long arm, slashing Belmont's arm and knocking the blunderbuss from his hand. The attack also knocked Belmont off his feet, sending him crashing into a nearby medicine cabinet. The glass cover shattered and fell to the ground along with Belmont. The beast lunged forward, but Belmont quickly got back on his feet and sidestepped around it. Once he was behind, Belmont struck the back of the creature's leg's with his cane, causing it to stumble and fall on one knee. He was about to attack again in an attempt to spear the beast's throat and spine, but the beast had already recovered and lashed out. Belmont saw this and jumped back. He avoided being killed, but the bridge of his nose was grazed by the beast's long claw.

Having narrowly avoided death, Belmont backed off further until he stood in the very middle of the room. He stood tall and glared at the beast. And the beast, hunched over on all fours, glared down its long muzzle at Belmont, growling lowly. Belmont wiped the blood from his face with his free hand the and looked at the blood on his fingers. He also spared a glance at the gash in his left arm. He looked back at the beast, still glaring daggers, and clenched his open hand into a fist. "Filthy animal," he spat. He changed his hold on his cane and held it as one would hold a blade with a backhanded grip.

As if it took offense to the hunter's insult, the creature snarled loudly and charged at him. Belmont held up his cane behind him and a faint clicking could be heard from it. The beast was less than 5 feet away, it's arms reaching out to tear the hunter apart. Belmont's eyes twitched, narrowing slightly, and he swung his arm forward. The cane separated into numerous pieces connected by a thick metal thread. The end of the threaded cane struck the beast's head and slashed into its eye. The beast howled in pain and veered off to the right, crashing into the wall.

The beast turned back around and stared at the hunter with its one good eye. Belmont hadn't taken a single step from where he stood. He grabbed his cane by its handle and strongly thrusted it to the ground, the pieces all snapped back into alignment. The beast hunched over again, ready to pounce. Belmont held up his cane and pointed it directly at the beast. "Well?" he taunted.

The beast roared and leapt forward, its arms outstretched. It wouldn't be right to say that Belmont was unafraid. But it was that fear, fear of death, that compelled him to get this right. He rushed forward winding back his cane. The beast, still flying through the air, tried to slash into Belmont's neck with its claws, but the hunter slipped through with only a small cut. The beast opened its gaping maw, ready to bite into Belmont's throat.

In a bold move, Belmont thrust his cane into the beast's open mouth. With a loud, wet, stomach curdling crunch, Belmont's cane skewered the beast's throat through its open mouth. The end of Belmont's cane shot out the back of the beast's head and his hand was in the back of the monster's gullet.

The beast made noises that sounded like a mix of whines and wet gurgles. It shot its paws forward, cutting Belmont's cheek and the side of his neck.

With no small amount of pain or effort, the beas'st sharp teeth were digging into his arm, Belmont twisted the handle of his cane, changing its shape again. With all his might Belmont pulled his hand and his weapon out of the monster's mouth. The beast's flesh was torn asunder, leaving a large hole in the back of its throat that went all the way out of its head. The beast fell to the ground, twitching for a moment in a growing pool of its own blood.

Belmont swung his whiplike weapon to rid it of any impurities, leaving a crescent-shaped cut in the floorboards. It was done. Belmont was alive while the beast lie dead at his feet. Belmont retrieved his blunderbuss and made his way to the second flight of stairs, giving the beast no further thought.

After Belmont descended the stairs he came to a pair of double doors that led outside. They had windows that filled the landing with the orangey yellow light of dusk. With a firm push Belmont opened the doors and found himself in a courtyard scattered with headstones. Several unpleasant odors wafted through the air, coming from the city. Burning incense, smoke, and blood. This stench, which would drive weaker men insane. Belmont was all too familiar with these smells. He knew what was happening the moment he stepped foot in this cursed city.

Tonight was the night of the Hunt in Yharnam. And that meant one thing: this night would end in blood and fire.

 **Authors note: And that is how you start a dark and gruesome epic good and proper. (At least if you ask me.) Before we go any further with the story I feel I should let you know that I will be taking more than a few liberties with the direction and tone at certain points of the story, like with the children of Gascoigne, so you might want to take this with a pinch of salt. That aside, thank you all so much for reading this. It really does mean the world to me knowing that there are people who enjoy what I make. Leave a review, follow, and favorite me or the story if you want to keep up. I'll post the next chapter whenever I damn well feel like it. And in the meantime you can check out my page and try some of my other stories. (Just remember to avoid my early work like the damn plague.) I'll see you all in the next chapter of whatever I make so until then, see ya!**


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